Dead!
by Adarcoi
Summary: I’m coming back from the dead, and I’ll take you home with me. He never belonged. Not there, not here. But one thing he learned, you can try to forget your past, but your past will never forget you. Akuroku, Zemyx, MaruRoku. Shonen-Ai. M for safety.
1. It's Not a Fashion Statement

You're Dead!

Tragedy/Suspense

Authoress: Orcadia/Adarcoi (2010)

Rewrite Begun: January 9, 2010

* * *

Chapter One:

It's Not a Fashion Statement

* * *

…_The damage you've inflicted _

_Temporary wounds _

_I'm coming back from the dead _

_And I'll take you home with me _

_I'm taking back the life you stole…_

It had been at the peak of a note when the music was immediately ended as the drone of lyrics died away into the speakers. The silence that overtook the surrounding area was at first daunting as the tanned finger finally slid away from the dashboard power button. The boy who had retracted his hand sighed in a fit of indecision. It tore at his heartstrings to even think about it…and yet, everything, the sounds, the smells, the surroundings, reminded him of where he went wrong.

"I suppose…that wasn't the best thing to play…" He muttered beneath his breath, letting his teeth graze over his bottom lip as he chewed softly in contemplation. He had paid no attention to the blonde boy who sat next to him, continuing to watch the froad in silence as the neon and grey of the city began to fade behind them.

The boy who sat in the passenger seat was like him in everyway, the same small body, the same blue eyes, and yet so different. The brunette driver couldn't help the tears that began to leak from his eyes and down his cheeks, he shot a longing glance to the passenger side, sending cyan eyes to shoot in anticipation. "…Roxas." Another sigh as he wrapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel. He couldn't take the tension this was causing, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he wasn't as patient as he had once been.

Still, not even a breath came from between the blonde's lips. His matching cerulean eyes were glued forward as the scenery exploded past the car in a whirl of color and motion. "You could have come home, you know?" The brunette muttered again, wiping another tear as it trickled from the corner of his eye. As his breath hitched, mentally beating himself for this being so hard, he closed his eyes.

Finally a single sigh erupted from between the peach colored lips of the blonde passenger. So, he did have emotion. But there was no words to follow, the car had become silent as ever, save for the whirring landscape and the soft breathing that the brunette driver had taken to emitting. As he turned the wheel in sudden shaken-handedness, a small brick house came into view. The home blended well with the background, the golden-rod skyline was breathtakingly beautiful as it colored the reddened bricks and clean windows. The scenery was one of serenity, quiet oblivion nestled between human suburbia.

The blonde lifted his eyes slowly, watching as seven windows glared back at him, most with curtains drawn and only half-illuminated in the dimming twilight. He scanned the façade for a moment before stopping as a pale face appeared in the window of the second story window behind the sheer white curtains, matching blonde hair flowing in a nonexistent breeze. Yet still, he spoke not a word to his apparent companion.

"Welcome home…" the brunette drug from the pits of his lungs, wrenching his feet, which had become more like dead weights on the floorboards. He shut the door without saying another word and slowly made his way up the long walkway towards the front, not admitting himself to take another glance in the direction of the passenger seat.

The blonde laid his hand on the door handle in contemplation. All of this time he'd been gone, all of the hell he'd been put through, and this was the welcome he received? He pushed the door of the old station wagon open with a slight creak. "This isn't home," he spat as he took another look at the retreating brunette. "This is hell with windows." The brown haired boy who had left him behind paid no attention as the blonde watched him close the mahogany door behind him and leave the lonesome boy alone in the atmosphere of his torment. The blonde would have been overjoyed to be back in a warm house, to have a clean bed, to be with his family again…what had gone so wrong?

As the wind whipped around his head once again, leaving the impression of suffocation, the aria blinding and the ear-splitting pain that shot through his head unbearable. "Just…Just shut up!" He screamed as he threw his head back and clamped his eyes shut. As he slammed the car door back into place he could only emit small breaths of fuming hatred to leak from his between his lips. Who were they to tell him this was what was _supposed _to happen? He was nothing without _them_. This boy, he didn't know what he had been through, how far he had gone to find himself, what he had lost. A twinge of loathing pressed the serenity around him as he strode to the door. It had been so long since he had been here, but it still felt like the same suffocating environment, the same fucking boring people, and the same lack of self-satisfaction.

There was no one to greet him when he entered, but he swore he could hear the clatter of glass and china from the dining room. The living room to which he entered looked well-used. The couches looked to have been moved, a long sage colored rug now decorating the floor beneath it. A coffee table had been implanted, now piled with old copies of newspapers with headings like "Unlucky Thirteen" and "Suicide Club" with hazy photographs. A half glass of orange juice sat beside them, along with a copy of _Nevermore_. The fireplace was unlit, but the ashes that had been left in its pit sent a smoky scent to flow throughout the room. The television situated in the corner had been left on, old home movies blurring across the screen. He let out another long, drawn out groan as he stormed past the warm and inviting room and instead into the depths of the darkened staircase leading to the second floor.

The second story was more or less a number of doors. They were each closed, adorned with personal implications and secrets behind them. Photos of school memories and sketches of summer scenes were plastered over most, save for the one he solely recognized at the far end of the hall. It had been his door, painted over with black paint from a self-mutilation phase he had gone through in the early years of high school and covered with posters of bands he had once enjoyed. As he approached the door, a twinge of fear swam like electric through his veins. He overcame the emotion as he pushed himself through the darkness. It had only been two months since he had last seen it, and with minor cleaning, everything remained as he had left it.

The room itself was freezing; a chill shock sent itself through his spine as he collapsed face first onto the grey-colored sheets atop the twin sized bed. The airflow from the heater to his room had been lost some time ago, and this was how he liked it. He wished he had been able to see his breath in it, just to know he was alive. He smothered himself into the sheets, entering a world filled with his own scent, something he hadn't smelt in so long. He had become accustomed to the cigarettes and violets that held him close, and he longed for their touch.

He had long forgotten of the brunette downstairs, just as they had probably forgotten about him. He closed his eyes, entering the world he had become so equipped to live in, a world of darkness and pity and fear. But now…he heard something, someone. Someone was here, in his darkness.

A pale face adorned with emerald and black.

It sent him shooting forward, arms ready to catch what he had so longed to have. "Ax…el!" He let the words erupt in their own tattered and choked breath. He couldn't be here…not here. He had seen him there. He was…

…he was…

* * *

"So…" The silence had finally been broken in the midst of dinner. Each patron of the table set their forks down for a moment as they all turned to the brunette sitting at the end, staring into his plate as if it would give him the answer to the world. The table was cluttered with dishes of sweet peas and candied carrots, seasoned steaks and a pile of toast. A plate of butter and salt and pepper shakers swam amongst them, giving the room a look of used familial living. The tall blonde beside the boy made a quick move, wrapping his arms around the smaller boy as he pulled him close. The rest of the table tried to swallow the lumps that had gathered in their throats, shooting glances between the shattered boy and the photographs on the wall that depicted six happy faces that now dwindled on the edge of four.

The brunette pulled away, standing up on shaky legs. "He hates me, Cloud." He almost chokes on the words as they spill from his lips. "That's why he's done this, you know." He turns his back to the family, retreating from their presence. Cloud, the elder blonde, would have none of it as he shadowed the smaller boy.

"He doesn't." Cloud murmured behind him, placing a hand on the shoulder of the younger boy. "Roxas…he would never…"

"He _would_!" The brunette shot back, sweeping away his hand in fury as he left the dining room in a whirlwind. It _felt_ like he was at fault. It was his fault Roxas had run away, it was his fault Roxas had ended up on the streets, it was _his_ fault that the Roxas he knew was gone. He slumped himself against the wall, head dropping to his chest as tears released again. "Maybe he was happier without me…"

* * *

There it was again. _That _feeling. It was a feeling that made him want to rush to the nearest drawer only to grab a fork and shove it deep inside his stomach—and twist. The numbness had subsided long ago, and the darkness was beginning to fade with it. He felt airy, like he had awoken in a sort of high that sent his body in tingles and seizures. His arms felt lifeless at his side, clad between white seats and the black shirt he had worn to his bed. They clung to his ligaments with the sweat that trickled down his body. He had finally opened his eyes, emerald orbs shooting to the ceiling. The room was bright, even blinding, shattering his sight with a neon eclipse of white and light. Was this heaven?

He quietly excused the thought. There was no heaven for people like him, nobodies. He could feel the bottle he had used still in his hands and the razors he had used out of rage and heartache. He had wanted to die. He _needed_ to die. The prescription of Norepinephrine that he had been given a week before was still making its way through his system, he could feel it. Every single tablet had gone into his mouth in his moment of terror when he found the rest of them already gone. He had swallowed the whole fucking bottle! Why was he still alive?

He laughed, it grew slowly and then resounded around the lifeless room. Who was he without _him_ anyway? As he sat up, his entire body racked with aches and pains as he let his crumpled self begin to rise on shaking legs. His entire being felt broken—weak. He pulled a hand to rake through his hair, candy apple red hair drifting around pale pianist's fingers. He let the hand drop down, noticing for a second that he no longer looked normal. He was ungodly pale, almost misty as he sat in the blinding light overhead. He wasn't dead. He just wasn't alive either.

* * *

Sora hadn't meant to make Roxas angry. He was just so frustrated with everything. Roxas had been acting like such a prima donna, sitting in his room all day, just feeling sorry for himself. The brunette could only do so much cheering up before everything went to hell in a hand basket. The brunette had taken to walking when it began to soak into twilight, the environment was calming, and sometimes he just know Roxas was watching. He'd leave fleeting glances at the window that had served as Roxas' escape, berating himself with questions of why it had to happen to his family.

The blonde had sat in the window of his bedroom, watching as the elder brunette boy below him continued to pace. He had just wanted freedom, a chance to live; a chance to see what was so great about the world that he had been left behind for. Now all that he could hear was the music that was belting out of the stereo on the second floor, but instead he found it easier as he swerved around the corner, repeating the same phrase:

…_We never got that far;  
this helps me to think  
all through the night.  
Bright lights that  
won't kill me now  
or tell me how.  
Just you and I  
your starless eyes remain…_

[End One]

I yet again hit a rut. Go figure. But I did decide this time to just do a re-write. It worked well for Broken Boys and Mondays, so I figured a retuning of this story was necessary. I changed the plot slightly, added a major twist that I had always wanted to include, but never actually had. My characters are a bit OOC, but I try to fit everyone in. Roxas is about 17, maybe 16? I'm not sure. Axel will probably be closer to 23, Sora will be a year older than whatever age Roxas is. Namine (who I've put at Roxas' sister) is probably 12, and Cloud is more around 25. Demyx, although only mentioned once in his chapter, is crucial, and will be about 20. There is a reason there isn't that much dialogue, but its one of those stories where I want you to think about it until the end and go "why didn't I figure that out"…I'm so mean. I hope you all don't hate me for starting to rewrite without even finishing the original…and for the fact that I haven't touched this in under a year…I swear, I was busy. I do hope that this makes it _awesome_ though. Please review!


	2. Give 'Em Hell Kid

You're Dead!

Tragedy/Suspense

Authoress: Orcadia/Adarcoi (2010)

* * *

Chapter Two

Give 'Em Hell, Kid

Rewrite Begun: January 19, 2010

* * *

…_Well I'm a total wreck and almost every day._

_Like the firing squad or the mess you made._

_Well don't I look pretty walking down the street. _

_In the best damn dress I own?_

It might have been the music playing in the background, or perhaps the colors swirling around him at this moment, but nothing particularly made sense anymore. The man who was currently sprawled out over the old brown upholstered couch hadn't woken yet from the high that currently held him in a wonderland, but he had already began to twitch, limbs making contact every once and a while with the other body splayed over the coffee table in the tiny two-room apartment. They were both surrounded by mounds of trash, empty beer bottles and crumpled magazines. The television continued to fizzle in and out of range with grey crackling video, the sounds mixing in with the creaking floorboards and the distinguished moans seeping through the neighboring walls.

This is what his life had become. As the taller of the two individuals began to rouse, letting his eyelids bat gently as he adjusted to the light pouring in through the badly covered windows from the afternoon outside, he shifted himself on the rugged couch, propping up on his elbows to get a better look at both himself and the mess of a life he was surrounded with. He was naked from the waist up, black ink swirling up his chest in ornate dragons of body design, stopping only beneath his left collarbone. There were noticeable purpling bruises beginning to form in the crook of his neck, and he could still see a small bit of white powder still lingering beneath his fingernails as he pull his body up to a sitting position.

He swung his leg from the couch cushion, prodding at the lifeless body strew over his table. "Dem…" He muttered, poking the slumbering boy in the ribs with a bit more force. "Wake up, bitch." He laughed before letting out a long and drawn out groan as the entirety of pain began to throb inside his forehead. As the other man began to rise, yawning and stretching as he shook himself free of the blanket that had been tossed half-hazard over top of him. He looked up, connecting his aqua colored eyes with those that would rival the color of envy.

"What is it, man?" He muttered groggily, wiping a bit of sleep from his eyes as he pulled his pants, which had been riding low on his hips, back up and his t-shirt back down over the hem.

The taller of the males looked up from his current task of rubbing his thumbs into his temples, grinning like a madman despite his apparent pain. "Where'd your boyfriend run off to?" He glanced once more around the room just in case he had missed the tiny boy who crashed there most of the time. "I'm sure he was here before I did a few lines."

As the other boy stood and began to wander through the maze of trash littering the floor he glanced back at the elder, watching as he swatted a stray bit of red hair from in front of his face. "He had to work today." He seemed distraught at this fact, pulling himself up to the counter and peering into the old mirror that hung crooked on the wall, touching up the wild dirty blonde hair that had begun to stick straight up on his head.

"Well," the redhead continued, pulling himself from the couch and over to the small counter which had been dubbed their kitchen, "hopefully someday he'll be able to leave the stripping business."

This comment had been met with a grin as the dirty blonde haired boy turned back to his roommate. "And someday I'll stop the alcohol, you'll stop the cocaine, and we'll all live in a nice house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, a dog, and 2 and a half kids." His laughter had ensued after the comment, pulling a fresh bottle of vodka from the cabinet and pouring it into a glass of orange juice.

"Two and a _half_?" The redhead replied, shaking his head at the blonde. "You're crazy, Demyx. It could happen. You just need the right motivation."

Demyx had already lifted the glass to his lips, letting the burning liquid slide down his throat as it hit the perfect feeling. It was the only feeling that seemed to cover the loneliness that had overcome them all. Life was a bitch sometimes and it was just waiting to kick them in the ass if they even made a move to recovery. "We'll be fine in the end, I'm sure of it. We've got friends. I've got love." He smiled once more before moving to take the coat from the chair and wrap it around his body.

"_You've_ got love." The redhead sighed, slipping back onto the couch with an old pop tart in hand and watching as he was left alone yet again as the blonde retreated from the apartment.

* * *

It had taken some time for the brunette boy to be returned to the dinner table. By the time he had sat back in his white chair, the most of the food had already been eaten and the remnants were beginning to become cold. He couldn't bear to look up at the three surrounding people; his eyes only felt pain and heartbreak in this moment. He quietly picked up the fork which had been lying forgotten on the edge of a pile of mixed greens and sweat potatoes as he mustered the courage to glance up at the older blonde sitting directly across from him. He had been met with a kind smile, the kind often used for reassurance when doubt was far beyond any reconciliation.

He hadn't listened to hard when the conversation had begun to take a turn to small talk as the dishes were being gathered. He had sat for the longest time, staring longingly into the plate of cold vegetables and pork. What kind of a kid did Roxas take him for? He hadn't said anything. He hadn't smiled, he hadn't even cried. He had just been there, and now he wasn't.

He felt a twinge of heartbreak as he couldn't bear to think of his brother anymore and tried not to gag as the nauseating feeling swirling through his stomach threatened to raise bile to his throat. It had been when the telephone began to ring that he had given into the feeling and thrown up the little bit of meal that he had consumed. Tears had welled up in his eyes as he watched the grayish liquid drip down the sides of the garbage can as the telephone hit its second ring. By this time, the telephone ended its incessant yelping as the doe eyed brunette looked up from the can he was huddled around.

"Sora?" The voice had come from beyond the kitchen door that divided him from the rest of the living world. "It's for you."

* * *

He couldn't do anything more than just stare at the receptor as it was dropped into his waiting hands. He was trembling from his very core and he couldn't help but let the tears drop from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks. He wasn't sure what to say to _anyone_ any more, not after the conversation he had.

It had been a quiet Sunday afternoon, the family had settled down into family room before any of them left for the parties that were planned after mass while everyone still felt pure and holy. The brunette was sprawled over the beige couch with his head on a throw pillow and his light blue button up wrinkled as he curled on the cushions. He could already smell the casserole baking in the kitchen as the scents drifted in through the open hall, and as he closed his eyes everything almost felt normal. He could hear the light scratches of his little sister's pencil across her sketch pad, and the music that was streaming out from the headphones that had fallen from his older brother's ears when he had fallen asleep. The sun was still streaming in through the open window as the misty spring breezes begun up again when the telephone had begun to call.

The light ring that spilled from the small black telephone on the edge of the side table flowed through the room in a soft serenade of quiet notes that seemed to remain unnoticed by the elder blonde in the armchair, and only a raised brow by the young girl propped against the wall beneath the window. She had smiled sweetly before returning to her drawing, leaving the brunette boy alone in his thoughts as he picked the black receiver from its place. He looked once at the ID on the front screen, disregarding it as soon as he saw the _unknown _flash across in a blue light. He let out an audible sigh, simultaneously pushing a strand of hair from his face before clicking his thumb into the on button and bringing the receiver to rest against the curve of his cheek.

"Hello?" His voice squeaked out from between his lips in an almost sweet sound. He closed his eyelids slowly, eclipsing the cerulean irises as he turned towards the window and awaited an answer.

There was nothing but slow breathing coming from the other end as both speaker and receiver sat in silence. "This…this is the Kuroda residence, right?"

Sora remained quiet on the other end, holding his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes scanned over the landscape, trying to place a voice he had never heard. "Yes, may I ask who is calling?" He tried to keep his voice calm and clear as he listened to the young man on the other end of the line take a few deep breaths as well.

"Um…" For a moment the brunette could sense the uneasiness straining through the receiver. He wasn't sure whether or not the voice would actually respond to his question, and was instead greeted with a kind of word vomit. The young man began to spill out information in a quick, stuttering pace as he explained. "I know your brother."

It was only that last sentence that even broke through to the young brown haired boy. "You know…"

"Demyx." This time the man was quick to respond.

That hadn't been the name Sora was expecting. Ever since his younger brother had…had disappeared, ever phone call, every knock on the door was hoping to reveal the younger missing boy. "You…know Demyx?" He could almost hear the young man's head nod through the telephone as the brunette collapsed back down on the couch.

"Yes," the speaker repeated, taking another breath and then a quick sneeze before laughing. "He, well, he wanted me to tell you, well that he loved you all, and that he was sorry."

Sora's eyes broke open at these words, clouding over as his mind raced and the world around him went dark. "H…he…"

But there was no answer. The line remained silent for the longest time before the brunette realized that there was no longer a man at the other end of the line and that he was now crying. The sobs had caused his sister to look up from her artwork, worry splayed over her features and she swept down on the older boy as the bursts of tears continued to rack his body.

He could do nothing but stare at the black receiver still lying cradled in his hands.

"I think he's _dead_."

* * *

It was as if all he could do was just stand there and watch. He couldn't help as his fingers clenched themselves deep into his palms, leaving tiny crescent moons in their wake as his brow furrowed at the sight of his so-called family. The four people who said that they loved him, that they _cared_ about him, could just live on their lives as if he wasn't even there.

The blonde leaned slowly against the doorway of the dining room as he watched the rest of his family begin to live on with their lives. He felt as if he were a boulder caught in the middle of a stream, never before had he felt like he didn't belong. He hadn't belonged here around the happiness and the family, but he hadn't been accepted out on the streets with those who didn't fit in anywhere else. Even in a world where he didn't seem to exist, he still wasn't truly loved.

As he took his silent retreat back into the darkness of the staircase onto the second floor landing, he wondered what it would be like if he wasn't alive at all.

* * *

By the time that the small blonde had made it back into his bedroom, the feeling was still the same. The same burning tears were streaming down his heated cheeks and the rage boiling through his blood almost made him wish to scream and throw himself through the window—if only to fly and feel free of this pain for a moment in time. He had sworn that the moment before he had decided best to walk downstairs that he had seen someone else in his room. Delusions had usually been the creations of a drug craving, but he felt neither the consistent movement of invisible worms beneath his skin nor the throbbing pain in his head. Though he hadn't touched the stuff in what seemed like forever, he was quite sure that he had never had visions this _real_.

The moment he had reached his doorway, the imaginary was still present. The bed was not vacant as it should have been, Instead there was a long body lounging amongst his black sheets and pillows dozing into dreamland. The man, who anyone would have immediately awoken, continued to toss around even as the tiny blonde boy began to confront him. He recognized this man, and neither the fact that he didn't know how he had found his home, nor how he had even broken into his second story bedroom were a factor in his mind's wanderings. He could smell something he had become akin to over his two months of wandering throughout the cityscape, but it was mixed at present with an odd twinge of something foul. It almost smelled like diseased chemicals and the bleach and 409 used to clean hospitals. Instead, the small blonde took one look at the man before him and without any further hesitation dropped himself onto the bedspread and curled himself in form with the second body. By all means, god, he could die at that moment, halfway between sanity and fear.

…_so go on live your life._

_But I miss you more than I did yesterday._

_You're so far away._

_So c'mon show me how._

'_Cause I mean this more than words can ever say…_

* * *

[End Two]

Well, I've successfully made it two chapters in under a month. True, you probably won't be reading be reading this for a while since I've promised that I won't post any before I actually finish at least three chapters and start into the new data for this story, so I'm sorry I'm rambling again. I do want to thank all of the people who originally reviewed, favorite-d and alerted to this story back in 2007 and 2008: Arkaham, BagiraXIII, Chibiomi03, Cocoabutter, Conductor of Darkness, Raven M, Roxas-Has-A-Stick, Silver Tears 11, Whisper-Otonashi, Z. Alexander, Monkeypies11 and RoxasandEli (in no particular order). Believe it or not, but this being one of my most-popular stories, you guys made me want to rewrite…that and the fact that I don't want to write any more thesis…I'm such a bad student. Otherwise, I'll see you in a week or two with another chapter! Reviews and flames are welcome.


	3. I'm Not Okay

You're Dead!

Tragedy/Suspense

Authoress: Orcadia/Adarcoi (2010)

* * *

Chapter Three:

I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

Rewrite Begun: January 23, 2010

* * *

…_what will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems?  
I told you time and time again you sing the words but still don't know what it means  
To be a joke and look  
Another line without a hook…_

It had been spilling out from the club in the midst of hard bass techno and flashing neon lights when he had first stepped into the third district of the grey cityscape. He had never felt so alone in a world so foreign and as the colors passed him in whirlwind strides, the passing of cars and of people, the world had never looked so beautiful and vibrant. The women he passed every so often were either eying him like he was the last living male, or that he was the spawn of Satan. He watched as they straightened out the skin tight dresses and skirts short enough to see what was usually censored on the web. A few whistled, some calling out crude statements with an all-too deep voice.

He tried not to make contact with the streetwalkers as he passed, he had adverted his eyes to the ground only to glance up every once and a while as the wind let out another gust of chilling breeze and the cars continued to splash thin streams of water from the puddles as they passed. He felt like a lost animal as he wandered the streets, feeling small in comparison to the tall statuesque buildings as they glared down at him and watched as he passed. He had begun to murmur to himself as he continued towards an unknown destination. His fingers continued to graze the edges of the small pamphlet of paper that was crumpled in his palm.

The small slip of peach colored paper had been found in one of the corners of his brother's bedroom when he had been sent in to find a few lost objects. It had lay somewhere between the piles of dirty clothes and the lamp that had fallen over in a past he hadn't wished to remember. Just out of place enough for the smaller blonde to notice, he had picked it up, The ink had been from a black ball-point and the paper had a soft scent of strawberries. He hadn't recognized the handwriting, nor the hearts that were littered around it. It had been addressed to Demyx on February the fifteenth in the previous year, and only an series of street numbers and a short 'together forever' imprinted across the bottom. It had been just odd enough to make Roxas understand that Demyx hadn't just run_away_ he had run_off_.

As he furrowed his brow once again, his eyes continued to glare over the broken concrete beneath his feet and not on the tall man who was in his way. It had taken only a moment for both of them to be on the ground, limbs twisted and faces only inches from each other. A blush had broke out across the blonde's face, painting his cheeks in a light tinge of peach and his eyes wide in surprise and fear for the elder man's reaction. He man beneath him, however, was tall and slightly muscular. The blond could feel the outlines of lean muscle hidden beneath the black t-shirt and light red hooded jacket. The man's feathered hair was splayed over the dampened pavement, the soft pastel pink strawberry enhancing the color of his light blue eyes. He was gorgeous to say the least.

"I'm…I'm so sorry!" The smaller boy murmured, quickly removing himself from the body he had fallen upon. He couldn't bear to make eye contact as the elder pulled himself from the ground and began to dust the dirt off of his stone washed jeans and smirk at the younger boy.

The smile was a bit daunting, the smirk was made in the small crook of peach-pink lips and a sliver of clean white teeth were visible for only a moment. He didn't look angry, in fact, he looked intrigued. It was a smile that sent shivers through the small boy's system, and made the red flag appear before his eyes as the flight instinct rushed to his limbs. He pushed out his arm, a hand with clean manicured nails resting on the blonde's shoulder before gently kneeling down to the boy's level. "No worries, kid."

The blonde wondered why he had felt so uncomfortable as he made to shove the thin sheet of paper into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He was even more surprised when the elder man's hand grabbed around his wrist and pulled the sheet from between his fingertips. If possible the strawberry brunette's grin grew wider as he leaned in only inches from the young blonde. This time, his voice was quiet and slow, "Eight. Six. Nine. Two. Oblivion." The series of numbers came out almost as seductive slurs. "So _that's_ where you're going." His hand slipped down to clasp the young boy's. Their fingers intertwined as he pulled him forward. "By all means, come with me."

As the snow had hit the city of neon in early January for the first time in what seemed like forever, the cogs of life seemed to stop. The eerie grey of the world around them had been eclipsed in a cascade of immaculate white for a few moments before life began to catch up and slowly melt away at the peace. The heat in the old apartment had been more off than on recently, and the only thing that seemed to occupy the attention of the lanky young redheaded man sitting in his windowsill high as a kite was the flakes of snow that slowly drifted down from the heavens and the considerable buzz from the radio on the countertop.

He had begun to sway only slightly as he pressed his face to the fogged glass above the counter as he balanced himself on the wooden chair that threatened to fall at its odd angle. He could barely see a trace reflection of his own face in the glass, eclipsed jade that glittered back like a misted tint over the cityscape. He had been left alone for what seemed to be years instead of hours and had already begun to swipe away at the contents of the plastic bag on the kitchen table. His fingers had begun to twitch by now, as he sniffled, nose tickled by a small remnant of dust that lingered around the edge of his nostrils. A half empty bowl of tomato soup sat untouched in a chipped ceramic bowl beside a spoon on the kitchen table, noticeable trace of papers and other food scraps littered around it as if it were constantly trying to keep order within chaos.

It had been the moment he saw him that a flash of lightening shot down his spine. He hadn't been in the right mind to recognize anything, but a small moving object amongst the clear banks below the dingy room seemed to grab hold of his attention like an arrow. He hadn't even understood what it was really, not that he could have seen that it was a small lost little boy, or that that small blonde body wandering through the cold had been wearing nothing more than a thin winter fleece jacket and a pair of cargo pants as he trudged through tundra.

The interest had been lost just as quickly as it had appeared as he lazily dropped back in the chair, toppling himself over and falling into a fit of uncharacteristic laughter. What he would give to understand even himself.

* * *

The house had fallen silent shortly after dinner. The family had dispersed, disappearing into far corners of saddened shadows as if being near each other only brought more sadness.

If two losses had done this, it would take more than a few band aids to wake everyone from their silence. The kitchen had long since ended their clattering and familiar chatter. With the scents of roasted meats beginning to drift away the house once again became a foreign wasteland.

The brunette had sat for the longest time, staring at the same piece of wall as if somehow it would begin to move and take him away from is torment. The silence was almost sickening, and his thoughts had slowly become hard to swallow. His skin had become paled and icy, his lips trembled with fear and uncertainty as his nails dug crescent moons into his palms. Where was his brother when he needed him? Surely he was sleeping, soundly tucked away in warmth as the darkness slowly began to nip at his heels. He was trying to scream, but in this suffocating silence no one seemed to be listening on his frequency of cries.

When he finally took the moment to stand, he faltered silently, catching himself on the white wood chair as he staggered away from the table. The only sound that echoed through the halls were the soft sound of his worn socks as they slipped across the hardwood and graying carpet as he began to crawl the stairs. It had taken a few moments to realize how alone he truly was, to recognize the fact that he hadn't effectively been whole for the longest time. In truth, he could feel bullet holes and the blood that would soon begin to waterfall from them.

As he approached the second floor, the rope seemed to tighten. He was slowly loosing concentration and as he came each moment closer to the final darkened doorway he had begun to feel his heart seep from his chest. It was as if the room had lost all sense of heat as he pulled himself into the doorway. He took a moment to wonder for what he had become so torn up about. There was nothing in this room out of the ordinary. There was a short bed with only two or three pillows and an old throw tossed carelessly over it, clothes that littered the floor in small mountains, and a cluttered cherry desk that stood in foreboding shape amongst the darkness.

His eyes lingered on the bed momentarily, his throat catching the thick breath as he tried hard to swallow. It could only be tolerated for seconds before he was forced to tear his sight away. He collapsed in the hallway among the shadows and creaking floors, tears streaming from his eyes like sudden downpour, wishing for the world to stop tearing at his skin.

* * *

The moment that the sun had risen he had been awake. It had taken a few moments to register exactly where he was and exactly who had so kindly situated themselves beside him. It was the first time in so long that he felt a twinge of warmth and he felt compelled to push closer, wrapping an arm around the thin waist beside him. He hadn't been able to control the urge to peak open a thin pale eyelid and break the acid green eyes to work just to glimpse the glorious sight beside him. The smirk that rose to his lips was tugging at his cheeks. A few quick breaths and he rustled a little from his quiet position, placing a quick kiss to the bare skin between the blonde boy's hair and shirt line.

"Why did you leave me Roxy?" The lines snuck quickly from between his pursed lips and louder than he had expected. He again closed his eyes, clenching his eyelids to their places and wishing for a new tomorrow. "Didn't I tell you?"

_No one leaves the Organization_…

* * *

No one would have ever let him live if he had stayed home, that, beyond any else, was the sole reason he had climbed from his bedroom window that evening. Getting to the city had been easy. Hitching wasn't as dangerous as everyone seemed to make it out to be, and at this point in his mind's wanderings it was the least of his worries. The first car that stopped was a little black thing driven by a girl with blonde dreadlocks and make up plastered over her tanned skin. She had smiled with bright immaculately white teeth barred in peach lip gloss that smelled of artificial strawberries from which the blonde boy had been forced to hold back a gag. She had declined sweetly saying she didn't have the time, but wished him the best.

The first bit of rain hit only five minutes after Roxas watched her exhaust billow away in the wind. It had been such a dreadfully sickening rain that the blonde wished to just turn around and perhaps hang himself when he got the chance. It had taken only a minute or so after the downpour began that a silver car rolled up beside him. It sparkled in the sunlight that peaked from behind thin graying clouds, and seemed to shine with a urethral glow. The driver had been a young man, probably around his age, with silver hair that almost matched the tint of his car and a light complexion that recalled regal status. His eyes sent small shivers beneath Roxas' skin as they danced in aquamarine hue. He had given that all knowing tip of his head, and a small wag of his fingers to attract the small blonde into the passenger's seat. The driver hadn't given much notice to the blonde's soaked body, nor the fact he was wandering the highway like a vagabond.

"You 'kay?" He muttered as he shifted the stick shift back into gear as he picked up speed and began down the road again.

Roxas hadn't been able to form complete words, he merely shook his head and stared holes into the floorboards as if they could just teleport him to freedom.

The man with silver hair seemed to understand, smiling with peach tinted lips that tugged thin lines into his cheeks as he chuckled before speaking again. "So where you wanting to be dropped?"

The blonde boy didn't bother to lift his head, hands itching at the sheet of loose leaf paper that was lying in his pocket. "Third District…" He choked, sliding a bit of pink tongue over his upper lip as he waited for a reponse.

This time the laughter was uncontrollable. "Off to score some hookers?" The grin on the man's face was breathtaking, as he slipped a few pianists fingers to the volume control to turn up the current low base. "A world that never was…what I wouldn't give to be sixteen again."

_...but you really need to listen to me_

_Because I'm telling you the truth_

_I mean this, I'm okay!_

_(Trust Me)..._

[End Three]

Okay, so this one took a little longer to crank out…so don't kill me. The rewrite is slowing. Due to changes in my writing style, the story is beginning to write reminiscent of _Lost_, and I loathe it, but I cannot write without the story telling itself. I'm sorry. At most I expect there to be between seven to thirteen chapters (I want to write one each for the titles of the tracks of My Chemical Romance's second album, as I have been doing because I think they speak to the story, but I don't really know how well that'll pan out). But between you an me, I wouldn't expect major updates for at least another two to three weeks after this one's out.

For any further justification-there _is_ a reason for all of the side-switching, but now that I'm getting into a definitive past I think most of the story will be told in a sequenced fashion, you know, with an actual beginning, middle and end. (yay). Further more: any and all constructive criticism is welcomed, so if you don't understand it, TELL ME. Love, the author.

*Hearts* You all…those few who are actually out there that is…Please Review?


	4. Helena

You're Dead!

Tragedy/Suspense

Authoress: Orcadia/Adarcoi (2010)

* * *

Chapter Four:

Helena (Goodbye)

Rewrite Begun: February 22, 2010

* * *

…_can you hear me?_

_Are you near me?_

_Can we pretend to leave and then _

_We'll meet again_

_When both our cars collide…_

The music had blasted through the speakers of the silver car as the blonde boy watched the world go by. It had been nearing thirty minutes since he had first stepped out through the screen of his second story bedroom window and his mind had yet to comprehend the freedom he was experiencing. The tan leather seats had slowly warmed beneath his body, and he was beginning to feel comfortable as the damp hair that hung in front of his eyes began to dry and clump together in odd angles.

The neon was already in view, and the buildings were mesmerizing as they towered above the small people. It had given him a little bit of time to think, fingering light touches to the small scars that lay jagged against his pale skin and darting crystalline eyes over the cityscape in time with the passing glow of signs. It had been quiet as the driver slowly tapped away on the wheel along with the beat that the radio played out. There would be times that his aquamarine eyes would travel to the small frail blonde boy who sat beside him.

"I'm Riku," He replied soft, barely over the caressing song, "by the way." He flipped a few long pale fingers through his platinum hair and setting a thin smile on his peach colored lips.

The blonde boy was taken aback. He hadn't expected to know who was aiding in his exodus. "Roxas." He replied in his own soft voice.

He quickly averted his eyes as they had made contact with the ones of the driver that matched the sea. They looked familiar, and in a relative way he wondered if they had met somewhere before, or if his memories were only creating a false reality. They reminded him of beaches, even though he had never visited one, and of sailing on soft waters as the sun glowed in an ever clear sky. It was a peaceful look that gave the boy soft features as he curled his fingers back around the wheel and let the black jacket slip down his forearms. It made the smaller boy wonder if there were any secrets hidden behind eyes that seemed to bar all lies. He shot away most of the fears that were beginning to fray at the back of his mind.

As the car slowed into the red light that sent an eerie glow over the street below, he watched as the man with silver hair relaxed back into his leather seat and turn towards the blonde passenger, a sigh relative on his breath. "You always get second chances, did you know that?" Leave it to his driver to begin to get all philosophical. He _did_ believe in second chances, this was all his anyway. "I used to do heroine…and drink, _a lot_," He continued to speak, though Roxas doubted if it was even directly towards him, "I used to be in a really dark place." The blonde could sense the smile that was beginning to reappear on his face. "But it gets better…"

Roxas listened as the locks on the door clicked open and the man returned to his normal position at the wheel. He hadn't noticed that the downpour had converted itself into snow while they were entering the city. The breaths of the peoples standing on the street corners were beginning to become smoke as they rose and the neon cast odd lights over their skin and they smiled at the two passengers of the silver car. The blonde boy slowly moved his hand towards the handle of the door, expecting for the darkness to officially end here. It was then that he felt the small slip of paper slide across the skin of his arm.

"It's my number." Riku responded solemnly, letting those all knowing eyes speak for themselves. "The darkness doesn't last forever…"

He hadn't taken enough time to reply to the man as he took the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans and swing the sling of his satchel bag across his body. He wished his voice would work as he propped the door open and step slowly into the slush that had begun to gather on the street. The only thing he could muster was a small smile and a slow retreat as he watched the man with silver hair slip the car back into gear and begin to drive away.

* * *

It was at that moment that he couldn't stop from shaking. His skin felt somewhat akin to ice and gooseflesh had spread over his forearms and down his back, sending the red hairs on is neck into shockwaves. He had already begun to wrap his arms around his body and shiver compulsively. He had been standing outside for nearly an hour and even in the evening twilight his body was frozen to the bone. He swept a hand under the edge of his nostrils, wiping away the last traces of white powder. He glanced once more down the street with greedy eyes, watching as the streetwalkers began to come out of hiding and the lights began to flicker on in bedrooms of the old rotten apartments. He pried his body from the step for a mere moment, dragging a palm up to slap away at the wooden door barring him from the inside.

"Kairi!" The pounded became more violent as he tried to push away at the door. "Please, baby girl!" Tears had begun to leak from the corner of his eyes, glazing the green irises over as his legs began to kick into action. The black jean material covering his skinny legs clung to him as the door felt like giving way. He only began to stop when he heard footsteps on the stair inside. It took all of the sanity he still held to even stay awake as the black continued to curl in on his vision.

* * *

As an innocent soul caught in the midst of neon and grey, the small blonde boy, who had so recently departed from his own home, wandered the streets for three hours before he was approached by the tall, daunting figure with hair that looked pink in the lights of the shops. Every once and while, the blonde boy would retrace his eyes to the arm that was connected to his in a firm grasp, only to meet a soft smile played out on peach colored lips and sky eyes. As odd at this man was, and as wrong as it felt to be following beside him with their fingers intertwined when they didn't even know each other's _names_.

"So where'd you come from?" The new sound of the man's voice after such a long period of silence caught the short blonde off guard. He sounded so calm and collected, with a sharp hesitation as his grip tightened and the fingers slid closer to the other's.

Roxas continued to walk beside the man in his self-proclaimed silence, caught more in a wandering quandary of where exactly this man was leading him. All at once the strawberry-brunette stopped in his tracks, thrashing his arm to the side and pulling the small blonde boy behind it. "I asked you a question," His white teeth gleamed and his eyes seemed too darken as his watched for a change in expression from his small companion. "Now, where did you come from?"

"_Twilight Town._" The blonde replied in a small voice that almost disappeared as it slid from trembling lips. "I came to find…nevermind."

'Well," The taller man sighed, beginning to walk again down the street filled with promiscuously dressed women with high heels and dirty hair, "was that _so_ hard?"

Roxas did not reply to this question either and it went on unnoticed at they neared the end of the street that glowed in a basking neon pink light that shown from the words ELEVEN DEGREES. The entirety of the building was comprised of either white marble or dark tinted windows. A smaller sign hung from one of the right side windows which read _Girls_ in curly white writing. "Where are we?" The blonde boy managed to send small squeaks in the form of words.

"We're at my club." The taller brunette man grinned as he slid his free pale hand and light blue painted nails through the wisps of his hair. "This is where you wanted to go, Eight-Six-Nine-Two Oblivion. Welcome to heaven, Blondie."

With a swift shove, the small boy was tossed into the dark building and the pounding throbs of electric music.

* * *

Roxas was pulled from his thoughts back into reality as he blinked out of the staring contest he had been keeping with the wall. His mind continued to retrace the events that had occurred over the last few weeks when he disappeared from this constant despairing world. The light from his bedroom had begun to dim as the sun continued its retreat back beyond the lofting grey clouds. The air had become thick and humid with the threat of summer rain and lights had begun to flash in the distance. He stole one last glance at the lanky figure in his bed that had begun to stir and sit up amongst his white sheets and pillows. The crisp colorless linen only seemed to intensify the color of his spiked hair as his acid eyes broke from beyond their lids and bore straight back at him.

At once he caught the glimmer of a figure as it flutter past his cracked bedroom door. It was a quick catch of brunette hair that made him forget the redhead and launch himself to the door and throw it open. The brunette didn't even pause as he trudged down the hall and begun down the carpeted stairway. His brother had been so silent lately; now he only shuffled across the beige carpeting in shined black shoes and a depressing black suit. His eyes were brimming with softened tears that slid down his cheeks in rivers. What was _wrong_? He had never seen such sadness and depression cross his younger brother and the fact that it wore across his face frightened the blonde to the core.

"Sora?" It was Cloud's voice that broke the silence of the hallway as it traveled from the base of the stairs. "Are you ready to go to the cathedral? The service begins at eight."

The brunette stopped immediately. Broken, he thrust himself to sit on the top stair and place his face into the palms of his hands. "Come on Roxas…" the plead slipped from his lips like venom. It was almost as if he hadn't meant it for the blonde at all and the sympathy was nothing more than sorrow for death.

Roxas burst as he hurried back into his room. _Service…_ They had never been ones to attend church regularly and on a Thursday nonetheless. He rushed too to his bureau dresser and closet, catching the grin that was beginning to bud on the lips of the redheaded man on his bed. "Better hurry, Roxie-babe. They'll leave without _you_." This man had become something of a conscience to the blond as he sat quietly in ghostly apparition. He had been neither acknowledged or noticed by the family and that fact worried Roxas. The question of how or why he had come from a city that never sleeps to crash in the bedroom of a wandering teenager still ran throughout the blonde's mind but he threw the notion away.

Roxas quickened his motions as he heard the car engine start up. He slipped arms furiously into the sleeves of his white button-down shirt and tied a checkered tie around his neck. He may have run away, but he was still part of this family…no one had even bothered to say anything to him since his return. He shrugged into a black blazer and rushed down the stairs following the family who had forgotten him as they left in silence.

The redhead leaned back into the pillows at the head of the bed, cracking out the fullness of his cat-like grin."Doesn't it just _blow_ to be dead?"

The cathedral that the car stopped at laid on the edge of the city like a flower caught in the midst of weeds. It sat in splendor of snow and grey with stained glass windows that cast out odd tints of light in hues of green and blue on the unsuspecting city. As the four siblings approached the building there was a sickening sadness and solemnity that made bile rise in the brunette's throat. It was so sickeningly quiet as he stepped inside the church that the world must have ended in that single moment. Never before had Sora wished to disappear more than in this single moment.

The pews were nearly empty. No one truly cared for nobodies who had taken their own lives, and the weeping tears that sprung from his eyes continued unnoticed by the priest who was quietly shaking incense over the caskets. It was not the frightening sadness, nor the small number of lamenting loved ones seated row by row in the pews, that scared the brunette most. It was the caskets. Twelve cherry oak boxes lined up before the alter as tolling dirges drifted through the air. Why did it have to be his brother? That happy child who had done nothing but _love_ and had never hurt a single soul…he didn't deserve this death. He squeezed his hand quickly around that of his eldest brother as he sat and stared down at the bodies that lay forgotten on satin pillows surrounded by roses and lilies.

Even now the headlines and news cast echoed through his mind. As the list of names proclaimed themselves in black and white newsprint a single name was missing.

* * *

Roxas couldn't move…couldn't breathe. He could do nothing more that stare and scream as the caskets opened and the dead came to reclaim him.

_...Just like the hearse you die to get in again_  
_We are so far from you_

_Burning on just like a match you strike to incinerate_  
_The lives of everyone you know..._

[End Four]

I apologize expressly for the tardiness of this chapter. I had so many different perspectives that I tried to pull into this chapter, and I hope that I've made enough of a distinction between past events and present events. I'd rather not use italics for flashbacks, so I'll basically motion that anything that happens in the city is past, and Roxas at home is present. But I can't wait to start on the next chapter! I have this odd fascination with Marly's strip club and what goes down there…be prepared. Oh, and yeah…I've made Marluxia brunette. Just picture his hair more like that in the original COM than Days. Love you all.

-Orcadia/Adarcoi (2010)


End file.
